


mirror, window, mirror

by Lirazel



Category: Infinite (Band), K-POP RPF, K-pop, Korean Pop, Kpop-Fandom
Genre: Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Gen, Girl Band, Sexual Harassment, always-a-girl verse, it's harder for girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Everyone in this room got here somehow.</i>  Sungkyung’s existence constantly reminds Woohee of the ways in which she’ll never measure up. [always-a-girl canon]</p>
            </blockquote>





	mirror, window, mirror

**Author's Note:**

> **Remix of:** [the chain](http://galmaegi.livejournal.com/16140.html) by [galmaegi](http://galmaegi.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Warnings:** trigger warnings for body/weight issues, body dysmorphia, and (non-explicit) sexual harassment as elements of female idol life (none glorified)  
>  **A/N:** I am confident that Infinite’s choreographer Kim Dongmin is a wonderful person who would never take advantage of the trainees/idols he works with. The character bearing his name in this fic is not meant to represent the real person in any way.

_And, for a while, I thought I was_  
 _the princess,_  
 _cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle,_  
 _young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with_  
 _confidence_  
 _but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess,_  
 _while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire,_  
 _and getting stabbed to death._

 

\- from ‘Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out,’ Richard Siken

\--

 

Woohee stands in front of the mirror naked and takes stock. It’s only been a few days since she’s done this, not enough time even to drop a few pounds, but she can’t stop the impulse—she’s alone, there’s a mirror, this is what she does. Everything is just as she remembers. Her thighs have always been too thick and the constant dance practice isn’t helping. Her calves aren’t too bad, though, shapely without being too muscular, though her legs in whole aren’t nearly long enough, not like a real idol’s legs. There’s still a layer of softness where the abs she wants to have should be, giving under her prodding finger; no matter how hard she works, she can’t quite carve her stomach down. A turn to the side: not much of an ass to speak of; not as pancake flat as Sungyeon’s, but no lush curves like Myungsoon and Dongjoo. Nice collarbones, though her hands aren’t pretty or elegant. Too tan, of course—not as tan as Dongjoo, though her darkness somehow fits her impressive dancing and always-laughing personality, but far darker than Sungyeon and Sungji’s flawless paleness. Nose so pointy and mouth too big, but at least her lips are appealing—she always spends a few minutes after she brushes her teeth licking them and pouting and practicing being appealing. She likes her eyesmile and the definition of her arms, though she hopes the stylist will do something with her hair that she can live with once it gets a little closer to debut. And then, of course, there’s her chest. 

No matter how much she begs, CEO-nim won’t let her get implants. “You need to focus on your dancing, on your vocal lessons, on your performing first. No surgery for any of you, not yet. None of you need it.” Woohee knows that their concept is going to be a little less sexy and a little more badass than most girl groups, and she isn’t sure how she feels about that, but she knows that unless they’re going to be in drag for every performance, a bigger cup size could only help gain fans. Male fans. There’s at least one member of every girl group out there who’s had breast enhancements and those girls tend to be the ones most popular with the soldiers and the ahjussi fans. The most dedicated fans. And Woohee wants the most dedicated fans.

The door creaks open behind her, a whining sound that reminds her of just how old and gross this house is, and Woohee concentrates harder on her reflection in the mirror. Lines pop up around her mouth and eyes when she smiles—will people think they’re wrinkles? Maybe she shouldn’t smile. Maybe she should have a mysterious concept so she can be cool and unsmiling. But they’ve already settled on that for Myungsoon, a way of hiding the probably-going-to-be-the-visual’s natural awkwardness. Two ice queens in one group is probably a little much.

“Put some clothes on, for God’s sake,” Sungkyung says, slamming the door closed and flopping down on her bed. “You never know when some fan will manage to get inside the dorm—if naked pictures of you get out, all our careers are done.”

Sungkyung’s words send a zing through Woohee. “We have fans already and we haven’t even debuted yet!” She spins around, grinning at Sungkyung who’s pulling the hood of her gray hoodie up over her hair. 

“They aren’t fans. They’re just pervs who like to check out young girls. We’ll have fans if our performances are any good.”

“Not all fans are fans just because of the music, unnie. Maybe they saw ‘You’re My Noona’ and liked our personalities. Fans like that would be the most loyal.” 

“Male fans are only there for the eye candy. Focus on high school girls. They’re the ones who spend the most and they won’t write dirty things about you online. Unless that’s what you’re wanting. A ‘model,’ right?”

Woohee’s been trying, she really has. Since Sungkyung was appointed leader, Woohee has tried not to question her in front of the others and to keep the soon-to-be-maknae-line cheerful and energetic so that Sungkyung doesn’t have to lecture them. More than that, she’s tried to keep her jealousy tamped down: it was always going to be Sungkyung as leader—she’s the _oldest_ , she has the most singing experience, even in just her high school band—and Woohee at least made the other lead vocalist. But Sungkyung stomps around wearing sweats all the time, doesn’t put on makeup when they go to grab dinner, just waves a little at the fans outside the practice building instead of grinning and greeting them like Woohee does. Sungkyung is anything but a typical beauty, but she’s sexy when she performs without appearing to try, and even if she should probably watch her weight more, at least she has the curves to compensate. 

Sungkyung doesn’t make herself easy to like, but Wohee has been trying. Respect for her unnie as a performer she’s at least managed. But every time she thinks that Sungkyung isn’t so bad, Sungkyung says something like that.

Woohee grabs a long t-shirt off her bed and yanks it on. “You don’t have to be such a bitch to me. I want what’s best for Infinite, too.” They finally settled on a name last week after lots of suggestions that made Woohee gag, and every time she hears the word, she feels like she could float. She likes the implications of their new name, even if she knows they’re a lie. They’re something to work towards, at least. Goals don’t have to be realistic. Sometimes it’s better if they aren’t.

“Pretty sure you just want what’s best for Nam Woohee.”

That stings even more than the model comment. Woohee’s used to insinuations; every woman in this business is. But she’s tried to keep her dedication to the group at the forefront of everything, making it clear to everyone around her. Either she hasn’t done a good job or Sungkyung is ignoring it; either way, it makes Woohee’s fists clench, her perfectly-manicured nails digging into her palms. 

“Just because you wanted to be a rock star and are stuck in an idol group instead doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me. You don’t treat Dongjoo and Hoyeon this way.” Even with their maknae line—the three tall, beautiful girls whose musical talents are less than impressive—Sungkyung is stern and forceful but not mean. It’s only Woohee Sungkyung is like this with. Only Woohee.

“I like Dongjoo and Hoyeon. Turn off the light.”

(Woohee shouldn’t care. It’s not like Woohee particularly likes Sungkyung. It shouldn’t hurt.

It does.)

Woohee makes a face in the mirror, crumpled lines that look like wrinkles, and turns off the light.

 

 

“Maybe she just joined so she could be close to Jongwan-sunbae and since she hasn’t been able to, she’s taking it out on you,” Sungyeon suggests, holding her long arms out for balance as she walks along the very edge of the sidewalk. Woohee shoves her hands in her pockets, bows low to a passing ahjumma, lets the smile fall off her face as soon as the older woman has passed. She doesn’t know why she’s complaining about Sungkyung to Sungyeon—Sungyeon is definitely Sungkyung’s least favorite (besides Woohee) and is the last person who’d be able to give good advice about winning their leader over. 

Maybe it’s because Woohee doesn’t feel like she has to smile around Sungyeon if she doesn’t want to. Sungyeoon values honesty more than anyone Woohee has ever met, and though Woohee is sure it’s going to get Sungyeon in major trouble someday, there’s also something appealing—relaxing?—about it. Sungyeon can’t sing and she’s just decent at dancing, but she doesn’t seem to care, doesn’t make excuses, admits it freely. Honestly, Woohee isn’t sure why Sungyeon has been kept around when so many other trainees have gotten washed out. Sungji at least can bring maknae-cuteness while they’re onstage, even if she’s all sassy hairflips and flashing eyes in the dorm. Sungyeon is pretty, yeah, with her model build and her pouty mouth, and Bora-unnie says Sungyeon will be gorgeous in a few years when her face finally decides to be a woman’s instead of a girl’s. (‘When I lose my candy cheeks,’ Sungyeon says with a grin, poking her own cheek.) But some of the other trainees were just as pretty, and CEO-nim has been far less concerned about looks than Woohee had anticipated. 

But Woohee is glad they brought Sungyeon and Sungji in—the two of them have infused life in the dorm and the practice rooms with an energy and lightheartedness the group had been lacking before. It had been so, so easy to get so, so serious, even with Dongjoo’s laughter. Sungkyung and Hoyeon are both so driven and Myungsoon had drifted silent and almost creepy through their days before the sixth and seventh members came, only occasionally breaking her silence to laugh at some of Dongjoo’s goofiness. But then Sungyeon had blown in and Myungsoon had come to life before their eyes, smiling a smile none of them had ever seen before and laughing at almost everything that came out of Sungyeon’s mouth and even playing pranks that Sungyeon masterminded. Not to mention that Myungsoon dotes on Sungji in a way that reminds Woohee that Myungsoon is the oldest at her house. The three of them, the maknae line, are fresh and young and innocent and maybe just what Infinite needs.

Woohee thinks maybe her own shoulders have been less tense since the Lee Sung sisters moved in, that maybe she’s laughed more, but that doesn’t mean things have suddenly become easy. Not with Sungkyung around.

“Maybe she wanted him to fall madly in love with her and he hasn’t and that’s why she acts like a bitch,” Sungyeon continues, nearly tumbling off the edge of the sidewalk. Woohee grabs her arm (so thin, in the circle of Woohee’s hand) and pulls her upright, watching with amusement as Sungyeon tries to get her limbs straightened out. Sungyeon has a careless way of moving that seems to Woohee a waste of her height. If Woohee was tall and willowy like that, she’d work on her grace. But that’s not Sungyeon.

And that’s not Sungkyung, the person Sungyeon’s describing. 

“No. She’s not in love with oppa or anything,” Woohee says, shaking her head. She’s seen the look on Sungkyung’s face when she puts on her earphones in the moments before Woohee turns off the lights. The look on her face isn’t like a fangirl swooning over an idol. It’s what Woohee’s grandma looks like in church. Rapt. Transfigured. “It’s really about the music for her.” 

“Well, maybe she just has a stick up her ass. Or she needs to get laid.”

Woohee shakes her head at Sungyeon’s inappropriateness, but she can’t help but smile. “Not everyone thinks about sex twenty-four/seven, Sungyeonnie. Just because your number one goal in life is to get a boyfriend doesn’t mean everyone else’s is.”

“I don’t so much care about the boyfriend part,” Sungyeon says, tossing her shiny hair over her shoulder. Her hair doesn’t have the glossy weight of Sungji’s, but it’s still prettier than Woohee’s will ever be. “Just the orgasms.”

Woohee looks around frantically to make sure none of the fans are following them. “Oh my God, Sungyeon. What if someone hears you? Guy idols can maybe get away with stuff like that, but you can’t!”

Sungyeon shrugs again, loose-limbed and completely uncaring. “Because heaven forbid a woman want a little sex in her life. Hey.” She gives Woohee a big grin, all Chiclet teeth and pink gums. “What would they say if I mentioned in an interview that I watch porn?”

Woohee grabs Sungyeon by the arm and drags her the rest of the way to the practice room.

(Woohee wonders what her own face looks like when she listens to music. She’s pretty sure it’s nothing like Sungkyung’s.)

 

 

Woohee tries four different heights of ponytails and one attempt at a braid before she sighs at her reflection and just ties her hair back in a messy bun. It’s an ugly color of blonde now, too treated, and she thinks it looks like straw. She just hopes the stylist will think of something else before debut because she doesn’t want the most important pictures of her life being taken while her hair looks this way.

She drags her feet out of the bathroom and into the hallway of the practice building, pausing to roll up her shorts another inch at the waist (at least she doesn’t have cellulite—yet). It’s just practice, just the other girls and Dongmin-oppa—Bora-unnie isn’t even going to be here today. She shouldn’t care about her hair. But there’s Sungji who even with cheeks flushed with exertion looks fresh and pretty all the time, and Myungsoon who can be covered in sweat and still look flawless. It isn’t fair. 

She’s about to head into the practice room when she hears a low murmur of voices. It’s the volume that surprises her—why would anyone have reason to pitch their voice that low? She eases her way towards the door, peeks through the crack. Sungkyung is there, in her ugly ragged hoodie that Woohee would like to burn (but at least it’s better than her terrible t-shirts that should never have even been made, much less worn by a human woman), and so is Dongmin-oppa. No surprise there; Sungkyung is spending more and more time in the dance practice room lately instead of the vocal practice rooms, so much so that she’s often the first person there, even before Dongjoo and Hoyeon. 

But Woohee doesn’t remember Dongmin-oppa ever standing that close to any of them before, except when he’s correcting one of their moves. And that’s definitely not what he’s doing; Sungkyung doesn’t have the flush or glisten that would say she’s already started practicing. But there’s Dongmin-oppa’s hand on Sungkyung’s shoulder, his head tilted down to hers in an intimacy Woohee recognizes. She swallows hard, watches their dance coach’s hand trail down Sungkyung’s arm. 

Woohee feels like her body is calcifying, like she’s turning to stone and will never be able to move again. Sungkyung’s shoulders twitch in discomfort, and she takes a little step back, and it’s like Woohee can feel the ghost of an unwanted touch, her own skin crawling in that old familiar way. She feels the mask of a pleasant smile settle on her own face, sees its reflection waver on Sungkyung’s. The sweat rising at Woohee’s hairline is cold and clammy and suddenly the locker room stench of the building is so tangible she’s sure she’s going to throw up.

“Namu! Namu Namu Namu!” 

Sungkyung’s head flies up, her eyes magneting to Woohee’s, so sharp and bright that they almost hurt, and then Dongjoo has leapt up onto Woohee’s back, jarring Sungkyung and Woohee’s gazes apart, and Woohee almost falls over before she manages to straighten and shake Dongjoo off her back, turning quickly away from where Sungkyung is looking at her.

“Namu, let’s get ice cream after practice! It’s so hot and it’s been forever since we’ve gotten any. Or—no, you’re on that diet thing, aren’t you? Well, frozen yogurt, then! That’s almost good for you!” Dongjoo loops her arm through Woohee’s and pulls her into the practice room, bouncing instead of walking, her hair—green this week, and why does everything suit Dongjoo, even—especially—when it shouldn’t?—flopping all over the place with the motion. Woohee lets Dongjoo pull her along, keeps her eyes averted from Sungkyung’s as the rest of the members pour into the room and Dongmin-oppa—who either didn’t see Woohee or just doesn’t care—calls them into position.

But a flicker of anger grows inside Woohee—why should she look away? Sungkyung always acts so high and mighty, like she’s too good to ever use her sex appeal to get ahead, but she’d stood there and let Dongmin-oppa touch her and—

Woohee looks up into the mirror as the opening strains of their debut song fill the room, and there are Sungkyung’s eyes, like they were waiting for Woohee’s. Woohee raises an eyebrow, defiant, and Sungkyung scowls and looks away.

(Maybe Woohee should feel like she’s won something, but she really doesn’t.)

 

 

The anger fizzles to petty irritation, though, over the next few days. Sure, Sungkyung’s sexy—sometimes—when she’s not wearing sweats and stuffing her stupid face. But Woohee is way sexier, all the netizens had said so after ‘You’re My Noona.’ (Okay, some of them had preferred Hoyeon and the younger fans are already flailing over Myungsoon, but Woohee knows for a fact that more of them liked her than liked Sungkyung. She’d counted the comments, just to be sure.) So why has Dongmin-oppa never—

It’s not like Woohee wants his attention. He’s a nice enough guy, a good teacher, a really good choreographer. But she doesn’t have a crush, doesn’t want him to touch her, and yet the thought that he’d picked Sungkyung instead is—

Woohee spends a lot of time with Dongjoo and Sungyeon, letting their loudness rattle her thoughts until she can’t get a grip on them.

(But when she’s alone, in the dark of her room listening to Sungkyung’s breathing, they settle right back into place and she can’t kick them apart again.)

 

 

“So now you’re avoiding me?” Sungkyung says just as Woohee reaches for the door. “That’s incredibly mature.”

Woohee freezes, her hand outstretched, and grits her teeth. Yeah, she’s been avoiding Sungkyung. So what? She can go hang out with Dongjoo if she wants to. It’ll be a little bit before she really needs to head for bed anyway. 

“Maybe if you actually tried being pleasant to me, I wouldn’t,” she says, grabbing the handle.

Behind her, Sungkyung snorts. “Or maybe you’re just jealous.”

The door handle is cold in Woohee’s hand, but it feels hot. Too hot. She turns very slowly. “What?”

“You wish it was you Dongmin-oppa was crawling all over?” 

Woohee eyes flash, her voice is sharp as she starts, “I do no—“

But Sungkyung keeps talking like she hadn’t even heard her. “Well, you can have him. I don’t need him.”

“You don’t _need_ him?” Woohee repeats very slowly. 

“Not at all. I’m plenty enough on my own.”

Woohee swallows hard. She’s not stupid. She knows exactly what Sungkyung’s implying. But still, she says, words taut with precision, “And you think I’m not?”

Sungkyung shrugs, aiming for careless, but she isn’t Sungyeon—she doesn’t make it. “Who am I to say? But I’ve gotten exactly where I am based on skills and hard work alone.”

Again with the implications. Woohee hasn’t eaten more than a little tub of yogurt all day and she was already feeling a little lightheaded and—“And you think I haven’t?”

Sungkyung shrugs again, stretches out on her side on her bed. Like this, the curviness of her silhouette is defined, her tiny waist—Sungkyung is proportional in ways Woohee has always dreamed of being. “I guess you could say flirting’s a skill, though it’s hardly hard work for you, is it? Easy as breathing.” 

Woohee can feel the acid-hot burn of tears prickling around the edges of her eyes, but she _will not let them through_. “You think it’s been easy for me? That’s what you think?” Her face aches the same way it does when she’s worn a too-big smile for too long. The way it does most nights.

The shrugging is ugly, so ugly it makes Woohee want to smash Sungkyung’s face in. “We all have different definitions of easy.”

It’s been a long time since Woohee wanted to scream till her throat was ripped to shreds. She hasn’t had to feel that way since Woollim. Woollim, as much as it’s brought new pressure, has in that way been an escape. 

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? You think your dream is so _pure_.” Woohee spits out the word, eyes gouging into Sungkyung’s studiously bored face. “Just what is it you think I’ve done?”

“I have no idea what you’ve done, Nam Woohee.”

The careless tone of Sungkyung’s voice is enough to make Woohee’s head spin with anger.

“Whatever your filthy brain is thinking, I haven’t done it. I haven’t slept with anyone or touched anyone or—you really do think you’re better than me. What, your suffering makes you some sort of saint, is that it? We’ve _all_ done things we didn’t want to do to get to where we are. You are not special. You got kicked out of your house by your parents and lived by yourself and worked three jobs at a time to pursue your dream? Well, I let gross old men flirt with me and put a hand on my knee and I smiled at them even when I wanted to throw up—just like I saw you do a couple of days ago—and, yeah, I showed more of my body than I wanted to for the photographer and listened to fat men in suits talk about how they could improve my body, but that was _not easy_. You think I _liked_ any of that? I _hated_ it. I wanted to throw up or die or—but I wanted _this_ , I wanted _Infinite_ just as much as you do. I’d have done anything to do it like you. Just because your story can be dragged up in interviews a million times to make the audiences cry and mine can’t doesn’t mean you’re better than me. You’re just _luckier_. You aren’t the only one who’s suffered for your dream, so excuse me if your self-righteousness is getting a little fucking old.”

Sungkyung’s face is a blur reflected in the window as Woohee turns away.

(Woohee slams the door behind her. She stays in Dongjoo and Myungsoon’s room that night and as she stares at the shadows swathing the ceiling, she tells herself that it’s Dongjoo’s snoring and Myungsoon’s sleep-talking that’s keeping her awake.)

 

 

Woohee stops avoiding Sungkyung and instead just ignores her. She obeys direct orders, any time Sungkyung is using her leader voice, but other than that, she just acts like Sungkyung isn’t there at all, not even looking at her when she asks Woohee if she wants the fan turned on or if she has any whites to wash. She half expects Sungkyung to blow up in another cold ‘you’re so immature’ lecture, but Sungkyung instead just stops trying to initiate conversation. (Though sometimes Woohee thinks she can feel her unnie watching her. Not that she’ll look to see.)

Spending time with Dongjoo and Sungyeon distracts her, so does going to the gym with Hoyeon (even if seeing Hoyeon’s sexy body and her confidence in her tiny shorts and sports bra does nothing to improve Woohee’s mood), so does listening to Myungsoon talking about manhwas and nagging at Sungji to eat right and stop slamming doors (Sungji says something snide about Woohee’s own door slamming, but Woohee ignores it). There’s always dancing to perfect, vocals to practice, Japanese to learn. It’s not like she and Sungkyung ever really talked before. 

Except that sometimes they did. Even if they don’t like each other, sometimes they would set that aside and talk about Infinite, about how to get the maknae line’s dancing to improve, about what it will be like to debut, about vocals on their mini-album. In those moments, Sungkyung wasn’t so bad—she could even be fun sometimes—and Woohee had thought, _Maybe respect is enough at the beginning. Maybe one day we’ll be friends_. She was never sure why she cared about whether they’d be friends someday. (But she did.)

The nightmares come back, stale and suffocating, of greedy hands and leering smirks and too-strong cologne, of the time she didn’t think she’d get away, of times that never actually happened where she didn’t. She wakes with a gasp, sweaty shooting upright, and through the window she can see a slice of moon hanging in the sky, and she reminds herself that this is Woollim, that no one’s ever touched her here or even acted like they wanted to, that they really think she’s pretty and a good singer, that the other girls like her and aren’t going to stab her in the back, that as long as no one touches her, she can smile for the fans and wink at the cameras and keep working on her abs and it will all be okay. She’ll be the best idol ever, Infinite will get more and more fans because they deserve them, and she’ll make sure that those fans are never, ever disappointed. She falls asleep, finally, listening to the sound of Sungkyung’s breathing.

(The air in their room feels heavier now. Woohee blames it on the summer heat.)

 

 

Woohee watches the movement of her hand in the mirror, corrects it, tries it again. If your hand movements look precise and finished, Bora-unnie says, the whole performance will look professional. Woohee’s hands aren’t naturally pretty like Sungji’s or Sungyeon’s (like Sungkyung’s), but she always keeps them manicured and soft and she’s learning how to hold them so they appear pretty even if they aren’t. The bright red of her polish lifts her spirits every time she catches a flash of it in the mirror.

She flicks her wrist again, the motion delicate as a bird in flight, and smiles, satisfied. Sometimes things go just exactly as she wants them to. Sometimes.

She’s about to turn away to go grab her water bottle and bag—that’s enough practice for the day and it’s getting late—but the motion of her reflection catches her eyes. She turns to the side, eying her silhouette. She’s lost two more pounds over the last couple of weeks; not as much as she’d hoped but it’s progress after she’d thought she’d plateaued, proof she just needed to work harder (to eat less). She pulls up her t-shirt, sucks in her stomach so it’s flatter. Soon she’ll have the 11 abs she’s working for. She may never have a v-line face or an s-line as perfect as Sungji’s, but she’ll do what she can. 

“You’ve lost a little bit of weight lately, haven’t you, Woohee?”

Startled, Woohee drops her shirt, spins. It’s Dongmin-oppa, setting down a speaker in the corner. Woohee feels a twinge of something that might be worry, but she uses the rush of pleasure at his comment to push it away. No one else had noticed. Or at least no one else had said anything.

“Yes! I’ve been weight training with Hoyeon.” 

Dongmin-oppa takes a few steps closer and Woohee tries not to tense. She lets herself relax when he crosses his arms and doesn’t move toward her. “You’re a hard worker, I’m not surprised. You’ve been looking better in practice, too. Very focused.”

“I’m trying.” Trying to focus on anything so she doesn’t have to think about the nightmares (and Sungkyung’s silence). 

“You’ll do well. You have the skills.”

It’s so good to hear that. It’s not like she never hears it—some of the others say it, CEO-nim says it. But every time she hears it, it’s like a little knot inside of her unravels. It’s a good feeling.

“Thank you, oppa.”

“And you’re attractive, too. You don’t really look like an idol, but then only the maknae line does. You’ll have lots of fans.”

Woohee tries to cling to the thought of lots of fans, tries not to let the don’t-look-like-an-idol sting (tries not to tense up as he moves closer again. Tries). 

Woohee fastens on her smile. “I think CEO-nim is less concerned about whether we look like idols and more concerned about the performances.”

“Yeah, you can tell he’s new to the idol business. He hasn’t figured out yet that he can’t treat you all like Nell or even Epik High and expect you to go anywhere. Idol groups are a whole different game.”

The pretty red nails she’d worked so hard on earlier today are biting into the lotion-softness of her palms. She scrunches up her toes inside her tennis shoes and forces herself not to move. Stay still, Woohee. Just stay where you are. No matter how close he gets.

“You know,” he says, and maybe it’s because her ears are being stuffed with cotton, but it sounds like he’s lowered his voice. “If you’re still interested in implants, I could talk to the CEO for you.”

His hand brushes her hip and her t-shirt is there, it shouldn’t feel like his skin is touching hers because it’s _not_. She smiles wider, thinks of all the pushup bras in her drawer back in the dorm. Surgery is scary, but wouldn’t it be worth it if she never has to look at her reflection and feel lacking again? Maybe—

“She doesn’t need implants.” Sungkyung’s voice is loud, harsh, steelier than when she’s correcting Woohee’s singing. Woohee almost gasps at the sound of it, and then suddenly a hand grabs hers and it’s Sungkyung’s and she does gasp. She looks up at Sungkyung blankly, at her small (but pretty) eyes narrowed, her pale (pretty) skin just a little flushed, her round (pretty) features set. Sungkyung tightens her grip on Woohee’s hand. “She’s fine just the way she is.”

And then Dongmin-oppa’s face flashes away, shattering in the mirrors, and Sungkyung is pulling Woohee out of the room, her hand tight around Woohee’s. Woohee lets herself be dragged, or maybe she’s just so shell-shocked at Sungkyung’s sudden appearance (and the feeling of Sungkyung’s hand around hers) to pull away.

She thinks she hears Sungkyung muttering something under her breath, but the sound is lost in the humid night air and Woohee stares at their hands, at her square one, too tan, at Sungkyung’s graceful one, always so pale. But right now, stained by the orange light of the streetlights they pass, they look almost the same color. 

The walk back to the dorm seems even shorter than usual, maybe because Sungkyung is stomping along so fast and Woohee is hurrying to keep up with her, and Woohee doesn’t remember any of it afterwards except for the sticky heat of the night and a glimpse of their reflection in a plate-glass window of a store they pass: Sungkyung curvy and sweats-clad, Woohee’s body never as thin as she wants it, one after the other, linked by the long lines of their arms. 

At the front steps, Sungkyung slings Woohee in front of her (Woohee had never noticed Sungkyung was that strong), releasing Woohee’s hand and leaving it feeling strangely cool, and pushes her up the stairs, not stopping even when Woohee almost trips over the mat and then over a tangle of shoes at the front door. Woohee only has time to note that Dongjoo and Myungsoon’s eyes are wide as Sungkyung’s strong, pretty hand steers Woohee by the shoulder into their bedroom, and then the door is slamming behind them.

Woohee stands in the middle of the room, blinking in the light her eyes haven’t had time to adjust to yet. She fidgets with the hem of her t-shirt, unsure of what to do or say.

Sungkyung stomps around for a minute or two, and Woohee doesn’t turn to see what she’s doing, just listens to the sound of her bare feet and her breathing. Woohee knows Sungkyung’s breathing like her muscles know each step of their choreo, and this isn’t her normal breathing, it’s a bit too fast for that, but not as labored as when they’ve been working out or in dance practice. Woohee thinks maybe she hasn’t heard this kind of breathing before.

“Why are you just standing there?” Sungkyung’s voice is gruff-edged, but still nice to listen to. You could tell she’s a singer even if you didn’t know, Woohee thinks. “It’s late. Go to bed.”

“I should take a shower.”

“Sungji’s in there right now. She’ll be there forever. Take one in the morning.” There’s a sharp push against Woohee’s back and she stumbles towards her bed. Then Sungkyung is moving into her line of vision, throwing her pillow down on her own bed and tugging down the covers. “Turn off the light, dumbass.”

Woohee lets go of the end of her t-shirt and walks over the light switch. She turns her head just to the side and in the second before she turns off the light, she catches a glimpse of her own face, Sungkyung’s over her shoulder, reflected in the glass of the window, and neither one of them look like idols. 

 

 

It’s easy after all this time to find her way to her own bed in the dark, to not step on Sungkyung’s arm or trip over her pillow. Woohee slides under the covers and clenches and unclenches her hand. She can hear the TV out in the living room but can’t make out any of the words, an electric hum that reminds her of being a little girl lying in her own dark room and straining to listen to what her parents were watching. 

“Debut is next month,” Sungkyung says, like an answer to a question Woohee didn’t ask.

“Yeah. It is.” The words feel large in Woohee’s throat, like expanding bubbles.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to be ready.”

“I’m not sure I will be,” Woohee says, and she’s never said that before. It’s been there, a steady buzz in the back of her mind, ever since she became a trainee. _I’m not sure I ever will be. That I’ll ever be enough._ But she’d sworn never to admit it to anyone, not ever, had thought she’d give up Infinite itself before she’d say it to Sungkyung. Had thought she’d shrivel up and die if Sungkyung ever knew she thought it for one minute. 

“I won’t let you not be,” Sungkyung says, and her tone isn’t reassuring or comforting, not soft at all. Sungkyung looks soft, but she isn’t. “I’ll make sure.”

It sounds like a threat, Sungkyung’s leader voice. It shouldn’t make Woohee’s shoulders slump in relief, like a little kid who’s reached the safety of base in a game of hide and seek, shouldn’t make her chest loosen from the tension that’s been tightening it for days, shouldn’t make the fear that had metastasized inside her as Dongmin-oppa approached her in the practice room shatter completely. (But it does.)

“We’re all going to be ready. Infinite,” Sungkyung says, and maybe ‘ready’ doesn’t just mean knowing all the dance moves and performing in sync. 

(Woohee listens to Sunkyung’s breathing and looks at the moon out the window, her palms pressed flat against the mattress. Sungkyung is lucky, she’s always been lucky. For the first time Woohee considers that maybe Sungkyung’s luck will extend to all of Infinite, that maybe the sheer force of Sungkyung’s will can ensure that they’ll be ready. ~~That they’ll be safe.~~ Sungkyung, Woohee thinks, won’t accept anything less, and the pounding of Woohee’s heart is finally slowing and the sound of her own breathing falls into rhythm with Sungkyung’s until she can’t hear her own at all, only Sungkyung’s. Sungkyung seems very close in the dark.)

“Yeah. We will. Infinite.”


End file.
